


Brendol's Burdens

by NebulousMistress



Series: Let Slip the Hounds of the First Order [7]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Monster Armitage Hux, Post-Indoctrination Command, Stormtrooper Culture, Stormtrooper training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: It takes an outsider to see how far he's fallen.Companion piece toMaratelle's Burdens
Series: Let Slip the Hounds of the First Order [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698706
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Brendol's Burdens

Captain Armitage Hux stalked the corridors of the _Absolution_. He wasn’t sure why he was here, other than Maratelle’s words intrigued him. Brendol was placing a great deal of trust and faith in his new acquisition Phasma, even to the point of potentially pushing Cardinal to the side after giving him red armor, rank, and a name.

Brendol would be in his office or in either of the commander’s quarters, either his own to sulk or in Maratelle’s for… Armitage didn’t want to think what for, he knew enough of Brendol’s games to know what came next.

That made the Stormtrooper cadres a safe place to lurk.

According to the cadre schedule Training Floor 5 was currently in use. The entirety of Batch Eight was currently in training at once, in ‘infantry battle simulation 4x10 grand melee’. Armitage purred at the memory. He remembered those from his own time in the RX cadre, those were fun. He found the observation deck above Training Room 5 and entered quietly.

The battle simulation was exactly what he’d always remembered. Pre-teen and young teenaged cadets ran around in color-coded practice armor, only the gloves, boots, breastplates, and helms. Their weapons all shot colored balls matching their own team’s colors. Depending on the simulation there might be a goal or an objective to achieve, today the children were all simply set upon each other in a grand melee.

This was a free-for-all. Red and yellow and blue and black paint splattered the walls and floor of the entire chamber. Crates and barrels set up as makeshift cover had been thoroughly painted in multicolored splotches. Children ran screaming as they pelted each other with paintballs. Multiple fistfights were broken up only by opportunistic shots taken by third parties.

It was complete and utter chaos.

Two people watched the grand melee from the observation deck, one man in red armor and one tall woman in Stormtrooper white, their helmets off and sitting on a console. Armitage considered them both and their total focus on the melee below. They knew Brendol was elsewhere, that meant they didn’t expect anyone. They didn’t notice him come in. It didn’t occur to them to notice him.

Armitage began to hiss. He started low, soft, almost sub-hamonic. He let that hiss slowly grow in volume and pitch.

It was an old test, one that only a select few ever passed or even recognized. But those who did, those Counselor Gallius Rax had given to him nearly twenty years ago, never forgot it.

Armitage could see the moment Cardinal’s subconscious mind picked up on the sound. He stopped whatever drivel he discussed with Phasma, trailing off mid-sentence as he stood up straight in his armor. His shoulders fell loose, his spine ready to move as commanded.

Armitage snapped his teeth once and Cardinal spun on his feet to face him, a look on the man’s face like he was almost surprised by his own actions.

Through it all Phasma watched.

Armitage stopped hissing and Cardinal relaxed then appeared annoyed at his own automatic reaction. “What brings you to the _Absolution_ , Captain?” Cardinal asked, turning back to the grand melee below. Below him there came a scream and then the sound of a child crying. A series of jeers and calls and shouts of ‘not fair’ came from the floor. “Carry him to the wall!” Cardinal shouted.

Below them a pair of teenagers hoisted a boy of no more than ten to his feet, carrying him so as not to jostle his broken leg. They left him against the wall where a droid shuffled out to fuss over him.

“Why coddle him?” Phasma asked. “If this is to simulate war, why not force him to continue to fight as he would in a true war?”

“This isn’t a coddling,” Cardinal defended. “We’re not stopping the simulation for a simple broken bone.”

Armitage watched as the droid fussed, reciting empty words of comfort even as it retrieved a blanket to wrap the boy in. It certainly looked like a coddling to him, he’d never been allowed any such comfort after any injury while training in the cadre. This droid coddling was new.

Phasma made a noncommittal noise.

“Is Brendol trying something new?” Armitage asked. “I seem to recall dragging my own injured self off of the floor during these simulations.”

“Why do you think the practice armor includes boots now?” Cardinal drawled. “You used to bite the ankles of anyone who tried to kick you.”

“And calves, knees, hands,” Armitage allowed. Before his father had the fangs removed he’d been a toothy terror always willing to bite and hiss and growl at any cadet who might get ideas. Then he’d been forced to grow up without, learning to rely on his knives instead. Now he had both.

“You used to savage those who tried to hurt you and that’s why they’re being coddled now,” Phasma realized, looking Armitage in the eyes. “To prevent any of them from learning to defend themselves. Seems a waste. They need to learn to fight with whatever weapons they have, especially while injured.”

Armitage watched this Phasma and how easily she stared at him. Most humans found him unnerving, a predator among human prey, but not her. 

“It’s essential that the cadets acquire a positive association with war,” Cardinal said defensively. “They need assurance that the battlefield isn’t to be feared. We don’t want them terrified of being ripped apart when they finally see their first real action. We want them confident, capable, eager.”

“Disillusioned,” Phasma mused. “I would remove the injury support. If they are too injured to continue they can drag themselves off of the floor or choose to lie where they fell. If they are not too injured they should continue to fight. And this colored paint inflicts no pain, there is no penalty for being shot.”

“Each team’s prowess is measured by the number of shots they place on opposing team’s armor,” Cardinal defended. “It’s why they’re all using different colors. There is a penalty.”

“But not an immediate one,” Phasma insisted.

“We don’t have the capability,” Cardinal said.

“I do,” Armitage allowed.

“That’s not complex enough for something of this size,” Cardinal protested.

Phasma glanced at Cardinal then stared back at Armitage. He grinned, baring his teeth, and it didn’t seem to change her stare at all. “I could bring you back to the _Locutor_ and show you,” Armitage tempted.

“The General wants her briefed on how the Stormtroopers are trained,” Cardinal warned.

“And how many cadres have managed to get rotated out of Individual Duties?” Armitage asked. “Has anyone been qualled with the new equipment? Has a single batch been graduated to a cadre yet? You’re still setting up here. The _Locutor_ ’s facilities are well broken in and there are plenty of Stormtroopers willing to talk. I’m sure Phasma could learn more from somebody her own age than she could by watching children on a Training Floor.”

Cardinal did not look convinced.

Armitage snapped his jaws once, stepping close and growling. He bared his teeth, his breath hot on Cardinal’s neck as he circled the man. Cardinal closed his eyes against the warring impulses, the impossible need to follow Armitage’s orders and the unflinching refusal to disappoint Brendol. He swallowed heavily and bit back a whimper.

Armitage continued his circle, one hand trailing on Cardinal’s armor. He could feel Cardinal shiver beneath it, could smell his desperate urge to please two conflicting masters. He stopped his circle before Cardinal, his one hand sliding around to his back and then up the back of his neck to his short hair. He tightened his hand into a grip and slowly pulled.

Cardinal shuddered and allowed it, leaning back to bare his neck.

Armitage leaned in, close enough that every word puffed hot against Cardinal’s exposed neck. “I’m doing Brendol a favor and you know it,” he purred. “He’s not set up here to finish anyone’s training. I’ll show her all of the possibilities you can’t.” He leaned down, drawing his flat tongue up Cardinal’s neck. Cardinal shivered and whined, eyes still clamped shut.

Armitage hissed low and soft as he opened his jaws and gently closed them around Cardinal’s throat.

Cardinal reacted, his eyes opening wide as he grabbed for Armitage’s shoulders, uniform, armor, anything he could get his hands on. His mouth fell open in a gasping scream and he trembled. It felt so different now than it used to, titanium replicas of adult fangs grazing gently at his skin like the caress of a blade or a lover’s fingertips and then as Armitage began to **purr…**

Slowly Cardinal stopped shaking, falling limp as his eyes drooped closed. His hands stopped their desperate grasp, instead sliding down Armitage’s back to hold him close. His voice faded to a single soft whine as he submitted.

Armitage pulled away, laving Cardinal’s neck with his tongue as he purred. Then he stepped back, holding Cardinal up until the man could regain his feet.

Cardinal managed to stand, eyes bleary and unfocused. He pulled away from Armitage and leaned on a console. His ears, his bones, his blood, his mind was still filled with the echoes of that damnable purr. It blocked out any and all sounds below from the Training Floor below. His awareness slowly returned but the sounds didn’t, the Training Floor still eerily silent.

“I’m going to show Phasma the training facilities on the _Locutor_ ,” Armitage said, his tone both warm and allowing for no argument. “She needs the chance to speak to some recently finished Stormtroopers. I’ll bring her back, and in one piece.”

Cardinal nodded, not looking at either of them. His face was red with confusion, embarrassment, and emotions he refused to acknowledge much less name.

"How did you do that?" Phasma asked.

"He was given to me twenty years ago," Armitage purred. He leaned close to Cardinal who flinched at the hot breath on his cheek while wanting to bury himself in that purr. "He remembers that."

Cardinal trembled as Armitage purred, so close to touch. And then he was gone. Cardinal didn’t watch as they both left him in the oddly silent observation deck.

Cardinal turned back to the Training Floor to see Batch Eight all silent, all quiet, and all staring up at him in what looked like confused shock. Cardinal growled, glaring back at the door, then down at the floor below him. “Simulation is over!” he shouted. “Everybody return to your creche! NOW!”

Children scrambled to obey him, confused by what they’d just seen.

*****

Firing Range 4-B aboard the _Locutor_ was a benefit of leading a squad, no matter how small that squad might be. Armitage allowed the general population of Stormtroopers to use his range and his equipment but it was indeed **his**. If his Hounds needed the shooting range he had the right to evict whomever might be using his equipment.

Today, however, Armitage was feeling generous. And there were only three Stormtroopers in here, all of them taking potshots at the targets. Armitage allowed them to stay if they wished.

All of his Hounds were summoned off of their own Individual Duties, each of them wearing their black armor. 

Phasma considered these black-armored Hounds and the distance the three ordinary Stormtroopers kept from them. “What’s the difference between them?” she asked.

Armitage considered the Stormtroopers and what he wanted them to hear. “Specialization,” he finally allowed. “Stormtroopers are trained in four main weapons: the SE-44 pistol, the E-11 AR, the F-11DS sniper rifle, and the Z-6 baton. Every Stormtrooper is required to be proficient in all four weapons and to carry all four weapons. And yet every Stormtrooper is required to use the E-11 in the field above all other weapons.”

Armitage pointed to one of the white-clad Stormtroopers. “Designation?”

“TZ-5456, sir.”

“Name some different types of Stormtroopers,” Armitage ordered.

“Snowtrooper, sir,” TZ-5456 said. “Cavetrooper. Scubatrooper…” He paused for a moment. “Lavatrooper!”

“Hey, what about us?” SK-0331 demanded.

“Thank you,” Armitage praised. Then he turned back to Phasma. “Stormtroopers are specialized based on terrain types. They’re trained in different types of armor, different environments, different formations. But always the same four weapons.”

“And these?” Phasma asked.

“My Hounds are much more specialized in their weapons training,” Armitage allowed. “This allows them to become experts in their favored weapons. I also encourage them to learn any additional weapons they might find interesting.”

“You acquire these ‘additional weapons’ for them?”

“If need be. Simulation Room 23 is built to allow for interactive holograms so they don’t need to acquire a weapon before trying it.”

“How does that translate into skill?” Phasma asked.

Armitage pointed to TK-1959 and RX-3081 then gestured to the weapons rack. As they picked and then began modifying their own favored weapons he turned to the three Stormtroopers. “Care to join us?” he asked, pointing to the E-11s.

The three Stormtroopers perked up and pulled E-11s off of the rack. They left their weapons unmodified as they all took their places in firing booths.

Armitage pulled an extra E-11 and slung it over his shoulder as TK-1959 and RX-3081 both took firing booths of their own. He tapped the control panels that set up the automatic targets at 100 meters. “One shot each.”

“Wait, at a hundred meters?” TZ-5456 asked. “He’s got a pistol.”

“Afraid of getting out-shot by a pistol?” RX-3081 mocked. He got down on one knee, holding the F-11DS sniper rifle steady.

“Don’t warn them,” TK-1959 said. “It’s not as fun then.”

“Quiet,” Armitage snapped. He waited a few seconds and then “Fire.”

He and Phasma watched as all five shots were fired, as each target took a hit. As he expected, both of his Hounds hit their bullseyes. But the Stormtroopers didn’t, one of them hitting in the 8 ring and the other two hitting in the 9 ring.

Armitage had all targets pulled forward to be examined. The three Stormtroopers started to celebrate their victory before seeing the Hound’s targets and then growing quietly disturbed.

“Every Stormtrooper is required to use the E-11 when it’s available,” Armitage said. “And they are all proficient in it. But they are not specialized. No Stormtrooper is allowed to specialize. As a result, they may never learn a weapon that suits them better than the E-11.” He tapped the controls to pull the targets back to 100 meters and then handed TK-1959 his E-11.

Phasma watched and listened as the Hounds all protested this. TK-1959 stood holding the AR as though he didn’t know how, one hand on the barrel in front of the handguard and the other held the grip wrong. His shoulders fell and he looked down at it, even through the helm she could tell he looked betrayed.

“TK-1959 isn’t qualified to shoot this weapon,” Armitage revealed. He paused for the three Stormtroopers to snicker even as JN-1301 and FR-2116 held SK-0331 back from starting a fistfight with them. “He was given to me because he was declared unfit to be a Stormtrooper. His inability to wield this weapon made him unfit.”

“You’re not helping, Hux,” RX-3081 warned.

TK-1959 shook as he stared down at the weapon he should have wielded but couldn’t. He didn’t understand why he was being humiliated like this. But then Armitage slid behind him and he heard that low purr. Hands curled against the pauldrons of his armor. “It’s okay,” Armitage whispered. “Trust me.”

TK-1959 nodded.

Armitage stepped back and TK-1959 awkwardly held the weapon up. His stance was all wrong, his hands were awkward, and he placed his head as though the sights confused him.

“Fire.”

TK-1959 didn’t miss, exactly. He still hit the flimsii backing of the target. But he didn’t even touch the 1-ring. Worse, the Stormtroopers were laughing at him.

“Let’s try that again,” Armitage said, stepping into the firing booth. He placed both of his hands against TK-1959’s, sliding them along the weapon into their proper placements. “Hands here,” he purred. Armitage trailed his hands over TK-1959’s body, shifting his shoulders, pushing in his belly, twisting his hips, guiding his feet, slowly changing his entire stance.

“Feels strange,” TK-1959 allowed.

“You use sniper stances with the pistol,” Armitage observed. “You can’t do that with the E-11. There’s no grace to the E-11, no finesse, only power. It’s overwhelming force tossed at range, meant to terrify as much as subdue. You need to be able to embody that power to wield it, otherwise it gets away from you.”

“How do I do that?” TK-1959 asked.

“Breathe deep. Let the stock rest against your shoulder. Keep your hands firm. You’re not putting a single shot into one target, you’re eviscerating an enemy to put it down while inflicting fear. You want to be noticed. You want to be seen. You want to watch some filthy rebel waste plasma in your direction while you rip him apart at range.”

The Stormtroopers had gone quiet at Armitage’s purring description. The Hounds were silent as well. Phasma watched with interest.

“Now. Fire.”

TK-1959 pulled the trigger.

He gasped and fell out of his stance as Armitage stepped away. He rolled his shoulder, tense and sore from the kick of the AR. He kept gasping, breathing hard from the odd exertion as he turned away from the target downrange. He dropped the E-11 then propped himself up with his hands on his knees. “I can’t,” he gasped, shaking his head. “I’m sorry sir, I just can’t…”

Armitage pulled the targets forward as he began to purr.

“Pfassk,” FN-2304 swore. “TK, you did it!”

“What?” TK-1959 whispered. He looked up and felt himself go cold with shock. He’d… he’d hit the 7-ring. “What?!” he cried. Shock turned to glee as he threw his arms around his Captain and laughed and laughed.

Armitage allowed TK-1959 to pick him up, to drag them both out of the firing booth. It was easier to hold onto his Hound's pauldrons as he spun them both around while he celebrated his first ever qual-shot with the E-11. With two officers present it could be counted as an official qual shot, a pity-type qual used to pass some of the borderline Stormtroopers fit only for guard duty on a quiet Star Destroyer. But he wouldn’t qual TK-1959 with the E-11 and that was the point of this demonstration. He wouldn't waste a trained marksman on guard duty solely because his favored weapon wasn't acceptable under Imperial standards.

TK-1959 squeezed once more then let go. Armitage dropped back to his feet. “As a Stormtrooper, he would be expected to use the E-11 at all times,” Armitage said. “Regardless of talents or weaknesses or expertise. A Stormtrooper uses the E-11 whether that’s their best weapon or not. Because every Stormtrooper is the same. They’re trained the same, they’re built the same, they’re equipped the same. They are all the same.”

The three Stormtroopers began to wonder if they were being insulted. Or if they should be here at all. They hadn’t been dismissed yet they left all the same. They saw no reason to stay behind and be insulted by a squad of dogs who couldn’t even handle E-11s without coaching.

“Perfect armor, perfect weapons, perfect form,” Armitage growled as he began to trace a wide circle around Phasma. “Every single one indistinguishable from the next. That is the Stormtrooper the General demands. That is what Brendol would have you become.”

Phasma considered his words. “And what would you have me become?” she asked.

“I didn’t bring you here to steal you from the General,” Armitage said. “Why, what are his plans?”

“His Stormtroopers are too soft,” Phasma said. “I’m supposed to correct that as they reach the end of their training. But I’ve seen the problems in the training program, they’re coddled. They don’t fight each other to survive. There’s no strength to them, no fire. No will to survive.”

“They’ve never known hungerrr,” Armitage purred, letting the words stretch as he bared his teeth. “Pain. Fearrr. Lossss… They’ve never starrrved at the hands of another.”

“They don’t know how to fight for what they have,” Phasma agreed, baring her own teeth under her Stormtrooper-white helm. “They’ve never been without it.”

“And Father expects you to teach that,” Armitage sneered. He spat a hiss at the idea. “He doesss enjoy setting those he claimsss to favor up for failure.”

“He expects me to fail?”

“He wouldn’t be surprised.”

Phasma considered this strange hissing creature that circled her like a predator, like he’d circled Cardinal. His Hounds all watched in relaxed silence as though this were a common occurrence. 

“You failed him too.”

“I’m his son, of course I failed him. Every one of my Houndsss was a failure in his eyesss before he gave them to me… And he was wrong then too.”

“How does he finish their training?” Phasma asked.

Armitage opened his mouth to speak but his Hounds answered for him.

“We finish our weapons quals,” RX-3081 said.

“We take some finishing classes,” FR-2116 said.

“We make a squad,” SK-0331 said.

“And that’s it,” FN-2304 said. “After that we’re Stormtroopers.”

“And yours are different,” Phasma realized, her gaze stopping Armitage in his circle. “What did you do different? It’s not just their weapons.”

Armitage purred. “They fought, they hungerrred, they knew fearrr. They sssurvived.”

Phasma nodded. “Fear, then,” she mused. Fear was the key, the difference between these Hounds and the basic Stormtrooper. Fear would teach them to fight. Fear meant more than mere hunger. Fear would inspire survival.

She could teach fear.

*****

Armitage passed out neural amplifiers to everyone in Simulation Room 23, all of his Hounds and Phasma. She looked at the little device as Hounds all removed their helms to stick the amplifiers to the sides of their necks. Armitage had one too, blinking tiny lights as he moved. “What are these?” she asked.

Armitage explained the technology. The droid brain that handled interactions had been further upgraded, allowing for a dozen such devices at any given time. There was discussion among the Mad Science Corps of linking several such droid brains together into a neural network, thus allowing the technology to be used by entire cadres at once. Imperial pushback mentioned worries about mind control and rogue AIs but Dr. Stephan was undeterred.

Phasma pulled off her own helm and set the device against her neck. Little teeth bit in, causing a moment of pain like the bite of a beetle, then nothing happened. She pulled her helm back on, unsure if it worked.

“Envision a weapon,” Armitage encouraged.

Phasma thought of one of her favorite weapons, one she left behind on Parnassos; a long blade of scrap durasteel pounded flat and sharp and cruelly serrated with a hilt made of the crumbling femur of the first rival she’d killed as an adult. She felt a tiny shiver stemming from the device and then…

Her own sword hung in the air before her.

“Take it,” he purred.

It felt… real. It had weight in her hands. She could even  **smell** the rotting bone that slowly disintegrated at the pommel end, the spongy bone of the joint corroding after too many pommel strikes. Holding it fulfilled a sense of longing she hadn’t even known she still possessed.

“It’s not real,” Armitage assured her. “It’s a hologram, made to feel real by the amplifier you wear. Any strike with it will connect, so long as your opponent also wears an amplifier.”

“Will it cut?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “It’s strike feels like a heavy stun-shock. Enough to cause pain and to correct, but not enough to cause injury.” He then turned to the rest of his Hounds. “Predator against predator,” he called. “Arm up and let’s go, no restrictions!”

Swords, spears, staves, blasters, knives, whips, the array of weapons was dizzying to someone who’d been watching Stormtroopers use the same weapons all day every day. A flash of red betrayed the use of a lightsabre and something snarled and the battle began.

A hand grabbed Phasma and pulled her aside. RX-3081 held his lightsabre up in a defensive gesture as Armitage hissed and jumped to hands and feet then leapt on a Hound who tried to defend himself. “Rules are all of us against him,” RX-3081 explained. “We need to take him down before he bests us all.”

“Will he kill us?” Phasma asked.

“Not intentionally,” RX-3081 said. “He hasn’t killed any of us yet. Maimed, sure.”

Phasma nodded, impressed with the setup and the creature that stabbed holographic knives through the seams of armor. FR-2116 howled in pain, his own spear ineffective against something so close in, and dropped to the ground. Then Armitage turned and snarled, charging the next Hound.

FN-2304 jumped back as Armitage charged him, holding the monster back with his own short knives. Armitage pulled new holographic knives out of the simulation’s programming and a furious knife fight began.

“Are we allowed to gang up on him?” Phasma asked.

“Encouraged,” RX-3081 said.

Phasma grinned under her helm and charged.

Armitage caught the large sword with one knife, twisting out of the way of the blow. He snarled and turned on her, darting down and then up, leaping on her back.

Phasma grunted at the sharp shock of a knife in her side. Even were it a real weapon it wouldn’t be enough to slow her down. She dropped her sword, grabbed her attacker to hold him in place, and then fell backwards onto him, slamming him to the floor.

Armitage howled as he was pinned, squirming and kicking and squeezing his way out of her grasp. He dropped his own weapons as she let go and rolled over, grabbing her sword as she stood. He rolled and darted away, shaking off the impact as she snarled her own primal challenge.

This was so much more fun than the Training Floor on the  _ Absolution _ . And the pain...

The pain made it useful.

*****

Armitage returned Phasma on the _Fenris_ himself, walking her out of the shuttle onto the flight deck of the _Absolution_. He expected Brendol to be here. He even expected Cardinal with his helm off and that smug expression on his face like he’d gone running to Daddy and now Armitage was in trouble.

“Well?” Brendol demanded.

“Phasma wanted to learn how the Stormtroopers are finished,” Armitage said, as though this were all entirely reasonable and Brendol was the one overreacting. “You haven’t had the time to finish a cadre yet. So I took her to the _Locutor_ to learn from some Stormtroopers there.”

“Without permission.”

“Is she a prisoner?” Armitage asked. “Does she have a rank yet? A number? She was supervised at every moment, the same as you have Cardinal supervise her here. She saw nothing she hasn’t already seen aboard the _Absolution_.”

“Her task was--”

“To study Stormtrooper training techniques,” Phasma finished, reciting Brendol’s own words back at him. “There are no adult Stormtroopers being trained on this ship. I took the initiative to study on my own.”

“We don’t ‘take initiative’ here,” Brendol snarled. “We follow orders.”

“Of course,” Phasma said, her words trailing off at the end. She glanced at Armitage beside her and remembered his words all too well. 

Armitage hissed low under his breath, starting at the base of his range. “Of courssse, Father.” The hiss stretched his words as he slowly raised volume and pitch until Cardinal began to react. “We follow orderssssss.”

Brendol glanced at Cardinal, furious at what he saw there. Cardinal stood straight and relaxed, head back as though ready to expose his throat, his eyes closed in an expression of tortured bliss. “Stop it,” Brendol hissed. “Stop it right now!”

Armitage kept hissing, even as Brendol snarled and swung at him. Armitage ducked under the swing, crouching low and snarling back with his teeth bared. He snapped those teeth once and Cardinal snapped out of his trance. “Stop doing that!” Cardinal shouted.

Armitage growled, mouth agape and teeth bared as he defended the ramp of his meager shuttle with TT-1098 inside. Brendol backed away, his expression demanding Phasma come with him.

Armitage snorted. “See if I ever do you a favor again, Father,” he growled. “Tell Maratelle I said ‘hello’.” He stalked back into the shuttle and the _Fenris_ closed its hatch.

Phasma stood watching the shuttle leave even as Brendol began barking orders at her, at Cardinal, at any Stormtrooper unlucky enough to be in the hangay bay. 

The First Order was powerful. And yet each time it was Armitage Hux who seemed to wield that power. Despite rank, despite age, despite a lack of humanity, despite the resistance around him. He wielded the power of the First Order.

And now Phasma knew for certain: Brendol was aware of this and it terrified him.

Interesting.


End file.
